


Out Here In Your Wilderness

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Denial of Feelings, Desert Island, Drunkenness, Emotionally Repressed, Feelings Realization, Happy Ending, Intimacy, M/M, Modern Era, Mutual Pining, POV Multiple, So many emotions, Survival, Yearning, alley blowjobs, desert island survival, more blowjobs, returned from the dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 00:14:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17776892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: Six months after James and Thomas have been reunited and are finally settling down, Thomas meets the missing piece of James's life.





	Out Here In Your Wilderness

**Author's Note:**

> For the long ago prompt: “I saw you staring at each other, I just wasn’t sure if it was sexual tension or murderous rage.”-silverflinthamilton

 

“What is it?” Thomas asks for the third time.

“Nothing.” James answers for the third time and Thomas stifles the sigh of frustration in his throat before it can make its way out into the world. He turns his head and looks pointedly in the direction James keeps glaring. There are several people seated at the bar behind him. A couple talking animatedly, a woman reading alone and, his interest heightens then, for at the end of the bar a is leaning against the counter, with a head full of thick dark curls, sipping his drink.

“Him?” Thomas asks.

“Stop staring at him.” James pokes savagely at his salad.

“Why? He’s very easy to look at.”

James snorts. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

“You know him.” Thomas stares at him with interest. “Who is he, James?”

“No one.” James practically snarls the word, therefore decrying that statement. He’s lying, Thomas realizes, and he doesn’t understand why.

His immediate assumption is that it has something to do with The Time Between. They haven’t really talked about it, even though it’s been six months. It’s there every day when they wake and every night when they go to bed together.

It makes Thomas all the more determined to find out why James is acting like this. He doesn’t want to force the issue but he’s tired of ignoring it, pretending everything is all right between them when there’s this inevitable silence that they move around whenever they come to it, and they always come back to it.

He hails the water who comes over immediately.

“What can I get you, sir?”

“Would you send another of whatever he’s drinking to the dark-haired man sitting at the end of the bar, with my compliments?” He nods at the man and the waiter ascertains who he means and nods.

“Of course sir.”

“Thomas.” James hisses.

Thomas ignores it. He watches the waiter go over to the bartender and put the drink order in.

“I wish you hadn’t done that.” James reaches for his wine and takes a deep gulp. His eyes move restlessly around the room, seeking escape.

Thomas is still watching. The man straightens up as the waiter delivers the drink and then he glances over his shoulder at the table.

Thomas sucks in a breath as he turns towards them. God, he’s attractive. If James knows him, why wouldn’t he admit it? What is he to James? A one night stand that he can’t bear to confess to? Hot weekend fling? Thomas could easily see that scenario happening. Or something more? Something deeper. It has to be that, James could have told him anything that didn’t matter. It has to be more.

The man eyes them both for a moment, his gaze lingering on James for a pained eternity before looking at Thomas with speculative eyes, and then he smiles across the room at them. He raises the glass in a toast and takes a sip, clearly waiting to see what happens next.

“If you don’t tell me, I’m going to invite him over here.” Thomas informs James.

“If you do that…” James’s hand grips the wineglass so tightly Thomas fears he’ll shatter it. James frequently doesn’t remember his own strength. At last James releases the glass and braces his palms on the tablecloth, as though readying himself for some battle.

“If you would just tell me.” Thomas sighs. The gap of three years apart is still a sore point between them.

He wants to know, wants James to tell him. but the absence is still bitter, the weight of it agonizing even now that they are reunited and James refuses to broach the subject of the past.

“Thomas, I would...” James’s breath is tight, his neck knotted with tension. “But you might not like what you find out.”

“Why?” Thomas demands. If James had simply had an affair, why not tell him? He had, almost, half expected it. He had been gone for three years after all, presumed dead. It would have been natural for James to move on.

But James had consistently shut down any and all attempts to talk about it. Thomas knows that they both have issues to work through, but he’s the one who was actually stuck on that bloody island for pete’s sake. It’s a little unfair, and his therapist agrees, so there.

James is sitting there on edge and Thomas isn’t sure he has the heart to go through with this, but then he looks back at the man at the bar, who’s clearly on the edge of his seat, hesitating, yet there’s a hopeful slant to his body as he watches them, and it makes Thomas gird his loins not to surrender. If they don’t talk about this, if they  _can’t_  talk about this, what kind of relationship do they even still have? He loves James and he won’t lose him, but he wants to know.

He signals the waiter who comes right over.

“Could you ask the same man to join us?” Thomas pretends he doesn’t see the way James’s whole body tenses. “And bring us another bottle of wine, please.” He has a feeling they’re going to need it.

“Thomas.” James clearly has no idea what to say after that. He watches the approach of the man over Thomas’s shoulder with trepidation in his eyes. Thomas hopes he hasn’t made a huge mistake.

“Hi.” The dark-haired man hesitates beside their table, looking at the both them, then clearly deciding it’s safer to talk to Thomas. “You must be Thomas.”

“That’s right.” Thomas says, a little surprised, but not really. “I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

“That’s not exactly surprising.” The man says easily, but there is a faint trace of bitterness. “I don’t imagine he ever even told you I existed now, did he?”

“That’s not fair.” James starts and then cuts himself off tightly.

Thomas gives him a long look. “You’re correct, he didn’t.” He holds out his hand. “Thomas Hamilton.”

“John Silver.” The man takes his hand and shakes it.

His hand is warm and strong in Thomas’s grasp and there’s the faintest tension running through him at the contact that makes John drop his hand quickly.

“Will you join us?” Thomas asks.

“Thanks.” John pulls out a chair and sits down evenly between the two of them. “Hello, James.”

James sighs and reaches for his wine.

“Wow, I don’t even rate a hello?”

“As I recall, I didn’t even rate a goodbye.” James mutters.

Thomas looks at the both of them. That’s promising on one hand, and slightly worrying on the other. John shoots him a testing look and Thomas shrugs.

“I saw you staring at each other, I just wasn’t sure if it was sexual tension or murderous rage.”

James barks back a hoarse laugh, while John merely smiles. “You’re not completely wrong.” He directs a sideways look at James. “Is he?”

“Fuck you.”

“As I recall, you did. Thoroughly. Multiple times.”

James’s hand shoots out to wrap around John’s arm. “Now, listen here, you little shit.”

“What?” John faces him directly, ignoring the tight grip James has on him. “Tell me, James? What were you going to say? Spit it out then.”

James hesitates, his gaze flickering to Thomas uncertainly. “Just go.” He releases John and sits back in his chair.

“I rather want to know what you were going to say too.” Thomas says mildly.

“Please, Thomas...”

“Would you care to explain, John?” Thomas inquires directing his gaze to him.

John shrugs and reaches for the bottle of wine. “May I?”

“Please.” Thomas gestures to the empty glass.

John pours himself a glass and takes a sip. “We fucked, like I said, for nearly two years, during the time that James thought you were dead.” He takes another sip.

And there it is. What Thomas had suspected all along, what James hadn’t been able to bring himself to tell him. And why? Why couldn’t James have told him? Because of the amount of time? Two years is a bit longer than Thomas had imagined, truthfully, but still. Thomas loves James to distraction, how does he not know this?

“Anything to add, James?”

“He’s doing a fine job of it.” James mutters. He downs the last of his wine and reaches for the second bottle. “Actually though…” he looks at John. “Where’s the rest of it?”

John shrugs again. “That’s all there is essentially.”

“Essentially.” James bursts out. “You left out the most telling bit, I think.”

“Oh.” John looks at him blankly. “And what was that?”

“How you fucked off and left without saying goodbye?” The fury had returned to James’s voice and it’s wrong how hot Thomas finds him like this, he knows it, but admittedly it’s also sad and disturbing, the pain that’s vibrating through James’s words. “You just  _left_ , no explanation. Just that fucking note and then you were gone.”

“What did you expect me to say?” John says quietly. “Glad the love of your life isn’t dead, James?” He looks slightly apologetically at Thomas. “No offense, I  _am_  glad you weren’t dead, it’s just…” There’s a bleakness to his words that leave the silence at the table with overwhelming emptiness.

“You loved him.” Thomas fills in the blanks and then with the shuttered glimpse of pain in John’s eyes, he realizes. Not past, not loved. Present tense.  _Love_. Ah. He’s beginning to understand. What a colossal fuckup.

“You could have said something.” James murmurs, his fury subsiding into raw pain, that he immediately masks.

“I couldn’t.” John says, his voice catching. He stops talking and takes a careful sip of wine before setting the glass down and rising to his feet. “Clearly, this was a mistake. I’m sorry for intruding. Thomas, it was nice to meet you. You’re exactly as I imagined.” He starts to walk away.

James reaches out and grasps his wrist. “John.” His fingers dig into John’s skin with an urgency that catches Thomas off guard.

“Let me go.” John whispers, not looking at him.

James looks at him, searching his face and then finally he releases John again.

John hesitates, glancing at him quickly now.

“At least, leave us your number.” Thomas interjects.

“He still has it presumably.” John says, his eyes never leaving James who winces slightly. “Anyway, I should…go.”

He forces a smile at Thomas and goes, walking past the other tables of diners carrying on with their lives as though nothing at all has happened.

 

~ * ~

 

They’re both quiet on the taxi ride home. James watches him, expecting him to say something, but Thomas remains silent. He doesn’t know what he has to say at this point. He wants to reassure James, but he needs to know the story of those two years with John and that departure from James’s life that clearly left a marked absence in spite of James wanting to pretend that everything is the same.

 

~ * ~

 

“I’m sorry.” James says after he’s showered and finally come to bed.

The bedside lamp spreads its light over the bedroom. Thomas is lying on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling. He waits, knowing that this time there will be more. And he’s right. There’s a tight tangle curled inside his stomach as he listens to James tell him about the years that passed while he was dead.

“It had been a year.” James sinks down onto his side of the bed, gazing at the wall, not looking at him. “You had been declared officially dead; your father had pushed for that and it made me so angry, that he wouldn’t keep searching when he had all the fucking money in the world to do it.”

He’s not the only one still angry over that. Thomas can’t even speak to his father these days, but he doesn’t want to think about that now. He doesn’t love his father. He didn’t survive for his father. He didn’t come home for his father.

“Anyway.” James continues heavily. “I was angry and I got drunk one night and the next morning I woke up safely at home in bed with a man I didn’t know…” He rests a palm on either side of his hips, his gaze dropping to the carpet. “and nothing had happened. He’d simply gotten me home and put me to bed and slept beside me.”

He sighs. “I thought I owed him something so we went for a drink the next week and one thing led to another.”

Thomas swallows, waiting to hear what that entails, but he doesn’t have to hear the words on James’s lips. He can picture it all too clearly, James and John in this bed right here, those dark curls thrown back in ecstasy as they fucked, a little too rough, something that slipped into something warmer.

James pauses, then gathers his strength to carry on, “The week I found you were alive…He just left me. Vanished. Packed up his things from the apartment and just walked out of my life without a word. Well, a note. He left a note that said ‘We can’t do this anymore.’ That’s all.” His voice falters and Thomas can hardly bear it.

“I couldn’t think, I was so angry, so distraught, I couldn’t think why he had done such a thing and then… then, I saw the news and you were coming home.” James’s breath catches with a sob. “And I had just had my heart broken all over again, and I thought I had betrayed you.”

He buries his face in his hands, still trying to hold back the emotion spilling out of him.

Thomas rolls over to sit up. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want it to matter.” James gasps. “Because I felt guilty and wrong, having allowed myself that while you weren’t even dead.”

“But you thought I was.” Thomas says gently.

“It doesn’t matter.” James chokes out

_Yes, it does_ , Thomas thinks, but he understands James doesn’t want to hear that right now, that even if Thomas says it, James won’t let himself hear it. Not tonight.

Instead he slips an arm around James’s waist, drawing him down beside him. Slowly James’s faint sobs subside and he buries his face in Thomas’s shoulder, Thomas’s hand stroking his back gently until he sleeps.

There are no more words that night.

 

~ * ~

 

Thomas lies awake long after James is asleep, thinking of it. He thinks of it all day while he’s at the office, staring out the window at the rain. A little googling and he soon learns that John Silver’s currently working at a coffee shop a few blocks away. He thinks about that.

He’s heard James’s side; now he wants to hear John’s.

_We fucked for nearly two years_.

People left without saying goodbye. They broke up and moved out, that was what happened, but Thomas suspects there’s something more to that abrupt departure than simply John didn’t want to deal with the messy fact that James’s former partner had returned from the dead.

He hears again the repressed emotion in John’s words, and knows that he’s right that John still cares for James, just as James still cares for John.

The question is what to do about it?

 

~ * ~

 

Around late-afternoon Thomas finds himself wandering in the general direction of the coffee district without a specific plan in mind. He winds up in front of The Black Coffee Spot. Thomas eyes the ridiculous sign for a while and then goes in.

He’s greeted by the sight of three people sitting on the counter, tossing pennies at a coffee can on a table a few feet away. John’s one of them, hair pulled back in a loose bun, a smudged apron tied over his black t-shirt, and Thomas thinks again how he could see James being drawn in by him.

“You missed.” One of the other people nudges him.

“I still have another toss.” John tosses his penny. It flies wide over the can and Thomas reaches out his palm and catches it easily.

They all look at him.

“Your turn.” One of the other girls says, giving John a nudge.

John slides down from the counter and comes over to Thomas. “Something you want?” He looks uncomfortable at seeing Thomas here and Thomas wonders if he’s made a mistake.

“Can we talk?” Thomas nods at him, not sure whether he wants to go out or stay here a while.

John looks around the coffee shop and then shrugs. “Yeah, okay. Grab a table outside, I’ll get us some coffee.”

Thomas takes a seat at table on the pavement, turning the penny over in his hands absentmindedly.

John brings both cups of coffee, black for himself and cream and sugar for Thomas.

Thomas eyes him as he drinks his black coffee. “That’s how James likes his coffee.” He observes.

“Yeah, I know.” John says levelly. He sits back, just rubbing his thumb over his cup. “So.”

“So…obviously you and James.” Thomas hopes he’ll speak now, but John looks reticent.

Whatever had prompted his words last night was lacking in the autumn day. Thomas takes a sip of coffee and waits. The girls at the counter are watching them through the window.

John sips his coffee and shrugs. “So you already know  we fucked while you were gone.”

“Yes.” Thomas says. “James told me a little more of that last night, after we were at home.”

“Did he?” John looks slightly surprised at that. “Then why are you here?”

“Well, we obviously still need to talk.” Thomas says.

“Why?” John asks bluntly.

“Why’d you come over last night?”

“Why’d you buy me a drink?” John counters.

“Because I knew something was up and I wanted to see what it was.”

“I wanted to see what James would say.” John shrugs a little. “I wanted some kind of closure I suppose.”

_Why’d you just leave without telling James goodbye then?_  Thomas wants to ask, but he knows John is expecting it and so Thomas holds back.

“How’d you two meet?”

John blinks. “In a bar.”

“And?”

John hesitates. “How much detail do you want?”

Thomas takes a sip of coffee. “How soon did you two fuck?”

“Not that first night.” John says. “The next week he texted me to apologize for being drunk and we went out for a drink and one thing led to another.”

He smiles and Thomas sees it then, there in John’s eyes, how much he loves James even if neither of them are willing to admit it.

“I told him it was fine, but obviously I accepted his invite for a drink. Well, I mean I was hesitant because nobody in their right mind wants to really go out with someone who’s hung up on their dead lover, but…”

There’s something there that catches at Thomas too, something too, that he’s not sure he wants to acknowledge.

“Anyways we went out and he tried to apologize again for throwing up, and I told him that was fine.” John grins faintly. “And then he left abruptly so I followed him into the alley behind the bar. He said he couldn’t do this and I told him that was fine, but I wanted him to be honest at least. And he said,” he swallows tightly, “He couldn’t do it because he wanted to too much. So I kissed him.”

There’s a faint breeze in the air, carrying the scent of coffee and smoky leaves and Thomas wants to drink it in. He’s still savoring being back, still marveling at the way the world went out without him in it. The man sitting across him is no less proof of that than the coffee in front of him, or the fact that there’s yet another Starbucks on the opposite corner where he remembers there being a small deli. Things changed and continued to change, even if he felt like he was standing still.

“We fucked later that night, but I don’t have to tell you how we ended up there if you don’t want to know.”

“Do you mind telling me?” Thomas asks curiously.

John hesitates. “Strangely, no.” He shrugs, glancing down at his coffee again. “I don’t know whether that’s because I’ve always been aware of you somehow or because…I don’t know really, but I don’t mind.”

He takes a sip, his lips brushing the curve of the cup and Thomas pictures then, James kissing him. Their mouths would tilt, turning in to each other and meeting with slow, soft hunger at first and then a deepening urgency.

“Come home with me and tell me over wine.” Thomas suggests without thinking.

“Home…” John says. “You haven’t moved, have you?”

“No.” Thomas says apologetically. “I’m sorry. Um.” Fuck, what was he thinking to have suggested that? Yet, stubbornly, he wants John to accept the invitation and return with him.

“He wouldn’t move.” John says after a moment. “He had lived there with you and he wouldn’t move.”

“And then he lived there with you.” Thomas infers.

“Yeah.”

“So come home with me. We’ll drink wine. James won’t be home till late, so you can decide whether or not you even want to see him. You don’t have to.”

John sits back in his chair, just looking at him with a clear considering gaze .Thomas lets him look, waiting for his decision.

“I’ll go if you let me know before he’ll be home.”  John says after a moment.

“All right.” Thomas says.

He rises to his feet and then looks down at his hand. “Oh, here.” He holds out the penny he had been clutching tightly in his palm this whole time.

John looks at it for a moment and then shrugs. “Keep it.” He jerks his head towards inside. “Let me grab my stuff.”

“All right.” Thomas drops the penny into his jacket pocket and waits for him, anticipation humming in his veins.

 

~ * ~

 

They take a cab at Thomas’s suggestion. It’s a quiet ride. John gazes out the window, lost in thought. Thomas is aware of their knees touching from time to time. Neither of them pulls away.

Thomas is also abruptly aware of how the flat must be familiar to John, what’s different, what’s the same. He wonders which sheets were on the bed when James brought John home that first night, which ones covered the mattress the first time they fucked there.

“Red or white?” He asks he unlocks the door.

“Either is good.” John goes down the hall towards the loo automatically, because of course he knows where it is. Thomas opens a bottle of merlot and wonders if John and James fucked in the shower like they did. Then his mind thinks about the three of them in the shower together.

_Ah._

Thomas stops to think about that for a brief moment than shuts that train of thought down. That’s not now what this situation needs. He’s not sure what it does need, but he knows both James and John need to come to terms with the fact that they both really love each other still. It’s so obvious, if they would only accept it and face it. John seems aware of it, hence the sadness, but James remains in full denial.

He pours them both wine and tries not to think about the shower again.

John joins him in the kitchen and accepts his glass gratefully. “Thanks.” His eyes travel around the room, landing on the fridge for half a moment and then quickly away again.

“So.” Thomas raises an eyebrow.

“So.” John echoes.

“You were in the alley kissing.” Thomas reminds him helpfully.

John stares at him and then starts chuckling, a little helplessly. “You’re right. We were. Um, and things heated up and I blew him.”

He pauses again like he’s debating how much detail to give. Again Thomas can imagine it for himself. James’s head thrown back in surrender, the soft parting of his lips as he came down John’s throat, his strong fingers locked tightly in John’s dark curls.

“And then he asked me well, more  _told_  me that I was coming home with him and I did and it was good.”

John takes a long sip of wine.

Thomas licks his lips. “Look, I understand…” He hesitates, because he’s not sure what he’s trying to convey he understands here, except all of it. He knows how easy it is to fall in love with James; he can’t blame John for doing exactly that.

John half laughs, half sobs. “Do you? I mean, if anyone did, it would be you but…”

“I know.” Thomas says helplessly. “I know. I’m sorry. I wish this were easier.” His mouth twists wryly. “I suppose it would be if I had stayed dead.”

“But I don’t want you to be dead.” John retorts almost angrily. “I want James to be happy.”

“That’s what I want too.” Thomas says softly. They both love James; what are they supposed to do?

John gazes at his wine. “I do want to get drunk.”

“Good.” Thomas says promptly. “Me too.” He fetches the bottle and they move into the living room and sit on the sofa together. John shrugs off his jacket and Thomas takes it, aware of the warmth, how recently it had been around John’s body. How well his hand would fit along John’s arm, how easy it would be to draw him close.

They sit together, facing each other on the long sofa. Thomas pours more wine into both glasses.

“Favorite thing about James?” John tosses out the first question.

“The way he gets completely absorbed when he reads.” Thomas says promptly. “You?”

“That little grin he makes when he’s uncertain of something, like he doesn’t quite know what’s going on.” John takes a sip of wine. “Favorite place you’ve had sex?”

“The park.” Thomas grins. “You?”

“Roof.”

“Nice.” They both drink their wine and stare at each other over their glasses.

“I just…” John leans back. “I wish.”

Thomas waits, licking wine from the corner of his lip, looking at John’s lips. John has a beautiful mouth and there are a lot of lovely things he can imagine doing with it.

 

~ * ~

 

The afternoon drifts into evening. At some point John takes off his shoes and leaves them by the end of the sofa as though he’s done it a hundred times before. Probably he has, Thomas thinks.

They open a second bottle, and a third, both of clearly wanting to talk more, but reluctant at the same time. Thomas catches John’s eyes upon him and then dancing away again, unwilling to be drawn into further intimacy, physical or emotional.

“Why’d you invite me here?” John asks at last, taking a long gulp of wine. “I mean, really.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d come actually.” Thomas reflects.

“Actually, I came because I wanted to know more about you.” John squints at him. “How you were doing, being back here after living on that fucking island all alone for nearly three years.”

_All alone._  The words are there. Unlike most people, John’s dared to speak them aloud. Three years without speaking to another living person. Thomas flexes his hands faintly, even now feeling the callouses that have only started to fade now.

“Thomas?” John prompts after a moment when Thomas has been silent a little longer than polite conversation calls for.

“Oh.” Thomas blinks at him. He’s used to people asking about the island experience itself. The adventurous, survivalist part of it appeals to them. He’s not used to being asked how he’s actually doing these days. He’s said he’s fine for so long now, it’s hard to remember there are other conditions for a person to exist in. “It’s difficult at times, if I’m honest.”

"I just wanted to make sure you were all right." John said again.

Thomas looks at him. "That's very considerate of you."

John shrugs. "While an island getaway usually sounds like paradise, I imagine it was some kind of hell."

His words are so simple, so casually spoken they could have been brushed off if Thomas chose. But he appreciates the question. And something prompts him to speak.

"It was some kind of hell. I never thought I would tire of silence, but I tired of that peculiar silence. The island was so empty. There were barely any animal life.  I tend to put on music now, the tv, anything to drown it out now. I miss enjoying silence." He swallows lightly. "There are other things too. That my father gave up so quickly, that he was so ready to declare me dead and not worth looking for anymore." He's barely even spoken of that to James, but here it was.

John just nods. "That was a dick move on his part."

At that Thomas smiles. "I couldn't have put it better myself. More wine." He starts to get up and John puts his hand out to touch his arm. 

"James kept looking for you, long after that. He pulled in every favor he had, persuaded his brother-in-law to take his chopper out. Everything. He never gave up hope." 

Thomas just smiles at that. "I know." 

He doesn’t say that James might not have given up hope, but at some point he had to have started to believe Thomas was dead. Otherwise he never would have gotten so deeply involved with John. Thomas knows this down to his very soul. He knows James. 

He fetches another bottle and brings it back. "Do you think things happen for a reason?" He's given this a lot of thought over the last three years.

John eyes him. "Do you mean do I think you got stranded on an island so that I could meet James? I think that's bullshit. If the universe did work that way, that's a shitty way for it to work. Something so bad shouldn't have to happen for something good to happen."

"But something good can come out of something bad." Thomas says. "I'm not saying it always does, but it can."

"I know," John says his gaze not moving from Thomas's. "But what about the bad things that no good comes of? What's the point in those?"

They've shifted topics, slightly, Thomas feels. John was thinking of something else. 

Thomas shrugs. "That I don't know."

“Anyway,”  John shrugs faintly. “Take your time, is all I mean. You don’t get over something like that just because you’re back.”

“God, attractive _and_  perceptive.” Thomas murmurs without thinking. “I can see what James saw in you.”

John’s smile looks forced over the length of the couch. “A temporary distraction and a good fuck?”

“Hey.” Thomas’s tone has a slight reprimand in it. “That’s not fair to either of you.” His hand brushes John’s ankle.

John shrugs and sits back against his half of the sofa, brushing his hand through his curls. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You  _are_  wrong because I know James, and he would never have thought of you like that.” James would have told him about a meaningless fling. It shows just how much it matters that James is refusing to talk about it. The silence surrounding John’s existence within James’s life speaks volumes for how much it matters.

“Right.” John’s bitterness is barely restrained and Thomas’s heart aches, even though he knows John is entirely wrong here.

“You were with him nearly as long as I was.” Thomas feels compelled to point out.

“That’s not the same.” John shakes his head. “I knew from the moment James told me about you that you would always be there in our relationship. James was never going to forget you. Living with that, in some relationships, would have felt like living in the shadow of a ghost, but it was never like that. James’s love for you made me love him more.” His eyes search Thomas’s. “Do you understand that?”

“I do.” Thomas whispers. His hand is still on John’s ankle. His own mouth tastes like oak and sweet, the wine lingering a little too heavily on his tongue. John’s would taste the same if he were to kiss him.

"I mean..." John's voice drifts. "You know what he's like." 

Thomas doesn’t answer that and John doesn’t really expect him to.

"He was heartbroken over you." John says simply. His eyes close with a sigh.

Thomas finishes his wine and sets the glass down on the table beside the sofa. When he turns back, John is asleep, his face half turned into the pillow, his breathing low and even.

Thomas watches him for a moment and then he closes his eyes and lets himself drift as well.  It’s the first peaceful sleep he’s had since he came back from the dead.

 

~ * ~

 

It’s late when James comes home. He stops with the key in the lock, gazing at the two men asleep on the sofa together.

“James?” Thomas murmurs.

James just stands there in the doorway, staring at them. “What the fuck is going on here?”

Thomas lifts his head further. “Shhh.”

“Why is he here and why is he asleep on our sofa?” James hisses. He closes the door, a little loudly and Thomas frowns at him.

“Because we were talking and he fell asleep.” Thomas shifts slightly, easing out from under John’s legs. They had shifted while sleeping and it had been entirely comfortable. A little too comfortable, judging from James’s expression. He motions James into the kitchen out of earshot.

“Why were you talking?” James is pacing, hands on his hips as he tries to make sense of what he’s come home to.

“Because I’m trying to deal with this situation.” Thomas says. “It’s unexpected, I don’t know what to do, all right? I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

James frowns. “What did you expect me to do?”

“I think you two need to talk, okay? And even if you don’t, I want to!” Thomas hisses. “We were separated for three years, James. Three whole years and during that time you fell in love with someone else and now you’re not even doing the decency of acknowledging that to me.”

“Thomas.” James sounds pleading. “Please, don’t do this.”

Thomas stares him down and James just shakes his head, staring at the floor, unwilling to say anything more.

“I’m going to bed.” Thomas says finally. “Let John sleep for fuck’s sake and kick him out in the morning if you have to.” He shoulders past James and goes down the hall.

James sighs. He goes to the doorway to gaze at John.

After a moment he goes to the closet and gets out a spare blanket and goes back to the couch. He spreads it out over John who shifts sleepily but doesn’t wake.

James gazes down at him, the ache in his chest growing more painful the longer he looks at John. His hand hovers above John’s hair for a moment and then draws back without letting himself touch John even for a moment.

With a sigh he goes into the bedroom. Thomas is already curled up in bed on his side, with his back to James.

James gets into his pajamas and crawls onto his side of the bed. He doesn’t know what to do here. He never thought in a hundred years this would be a situation he had to deal with.

 

~ * ~

 

John wakes first. He doesn’t remember where he is at first, the light behind his eyelids is familiar somehow, and the smell of the pillow his face is pressed against, and then it returns to him. He shoves himself up from the sofa, heart pounding as he looks around for his jacket, his shoes. He has to get out of here before...

“Morning.”

John freezes, looking up at the doorway where James is standing there with a cup of coffee, watching him. James looks resigned, but not angry, and John’s heart sinks at how much he was counting on that anger to keep his own misery and resolve fueled. How is he supposed to keep his distance from James when he’s standing there in his pajama trousers and sweater, hair uncombed and sleepy lines creasing at the corners of his eyes. John used to kiss him awake when he looked like that. He used to love coaxing a smile from that stern mouth.

“I just need to find my jacket and I’ll be out of your hair.”

James sighs. “Coffee first?”

It sounds tentative and John hesitates. “All right.” Coffee would help with his general mood.

 

~ * ~

 

John drinks his coffee and looks wary. James drinks his black, wondering what he’s supposed to say, what was said last night in his absence.

He doesn’t want to think about how at home John looks asleep on the sofa under the comforter and how much he’s missed seeing that dark head asleep on the pillow next to him. How is he supposed to deal with this?

He can’t stop missing John. He’s buried it for the last six months, locked it away in the darkest recesses of his heart and then last night happened, and there John was. Seeing him again, finding him asleep on the sofa, it had all simply come rushing back to James and now here they are.

John simply takes another sip of coffee and sets it down. “I need to be getting to work.”

“Still at the coffeehouse?” James asks.

“Yes.” John glances at him. “Umm…” he starts heading towards the door. “Look, James, I really didn’t mean to start anything in the restaurant. I just…” He drops his gaze and James’s hand half reaches out, and then lowers just as quickly. All his old instincts are coming back and he can’t stop reaching for John. Everything in him yearns to reach for John. Nothing’s changed in that regard.

“Thomas started it to be fair.” James says quietly, gazing down at his coffee.

“Right, well.” John still looks uncertain. “I…”

“John.” James says at the same time. “I…” He stops. He still doesn’t know what to say. How can he fix this after leaving it broken for so long? Yes, Thomas had started it, but...he hadn’t known and now here they are.

“What did you two talk about?”

John gives him a look. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know what to think.” James says exasperated. He pauses. “I…”

“James...” John begins again and again he still pauses, laughing a little. He looks around the kitchen, taking in the coffee maker, the drying rack, the blue curtains, matching rooster salt & pepper shakers. All the familiar things.

“You didn’t move.” John says quietly.

“You know why.” James begins “I couldn’t move after either…”

John draws closer. “If Thomas had wanted to move when he came home…” he asks softly. “Would you have done it?”

James’s eyes widen with a pained exasperation. “John, don’t…”

“Forget that. I shouldn’t have asked that.” John sets down the mug abruptly as he looks at the clock. “I need to be going, shit.”

James follows him to the door. “Please.” He stops. “Am I going to see you again?”

John reaches for his coat and pauses, looking back at him. “Why are you asking…do you want to?”

“Yes.” James says without thinking about it, without letting himself think about it overly long. He doesn’t want to lose John again, even if he doesn’t know how to keep him yet. But Thomas…he’ll talk to Thomas first and then, then he’d figure something out.

“Yes.” He says firmly. “I do.”

John’s expression slowly softens. “Then…well, you know where I work.” He says quietly. “And my number hasn’t changed.”

“Right, well.” James nods. “I’ll be in touch.” It sounds so formal, but it means something, he means it.

“All right.” John gives a little nod. “Tell Thomas…thanks for last night.” His smile widens as he says those words and again John wants to know what exactly they were talking about. Him, it’s obvious, but  _what_ about him? What conclusions, what decisions had they come to? He watches John go out into the hall and down the stairs, whistling a little.

Suddenly a vivid memory of the last time he had said goodbye to John comes back to him. It had been the morning of the day before he left. James had been in his pajama bottoms, drinking coffee and making pancakes. John had had an early shift, already dressed and ready to go.

“I’m late. I have to go.” He had kissed the back of James’s neck hurriedly and James had turned and caught him around the waist, kissing him more and more thoroughly. Until finally John had disentangled himself with a laugh.

“James, James, I love you, but I have to go.”

“Fine.” James growls. He had watched John go whistling out the door with affection, and he had thought, “I love him. I am so lucky to have met another love.”

And then, and then…the next day, James had left for work before John had and when he came home it was to find the note and John gone, and now here they are. He slumps against the door with a sigh.

“I can’t do this again.” James mutters to the apartment. “I can’t.”

He can’t lose John again. He has to figure out a way to make this work, talking it over with Thomas. He doesn’t know how to make this work, but admitting that he wants it is the first step. He knows that much.

He pours himself a cup of coffee and drinks it, leaning against the counter, waiting for Thomas to get up.

And finally Thomas does, wandering out into the kitchen with a yawn. “Is there more coffee?”

“Yes.” James tells him, getting out a mug and pouring him some as well as adding more to his own mug.

“Mmm, thank you, darling.” Thomas takes a sip. “Where’s John?”

“He…had a shift.”

“Oh, right.” Thomas nods. He takes another sip and looks questioning at James. “James?”

James sighs. “What am I supposed to do?”

“I suppose it matters what you want to do.” Thomas looks at him questioningly.

James rubs his face with both his hands. If he admits this. If he comes to terms with the fact that he’s still deeply and unequivocally in love with John, what does that mean for them?

“You know I love you.” He begins uncertainly, which is the wrong way to begin, he knows that.

“Yes.” Thomas takes another sip of tea. “I’m aware of that.”

“Then…” James takes a deep breath. “What am I supposed to do with the fact that I still love him?”

The pressure building up inside him eases, like a mountain shifting its solid foundation. He feels like he’s going to evaporate into thin air, that there’s nothing to hold on to, except, except…

“I suppose you’d better tell him.” Thomas sets his tea aside, still just looking at him.

“And then what?” He can’t leave Thomas. He can’t do that. He doesn’t want to do that, but the ghost of John has been knocking at the doors of his heart for the last six months, and he can’t deny that either.

“Then we’ll probably have to get a bigger bed, or fix up the spare room, if John would prefer that, and we’ll take it from there.” Thomas pauses, looking at him. “You didn’t think I meant you had to choose between us, did you?”

“I don’t know what I thought. I don’t know what I’m thinking. I don’t know what you’re thinking. I don’t know about any of this.”

Thomas leans in and puts his hands very gently over James’s, holding him by the wrists. “I’m thinking you should talk to John, and that John still needs to tell you why he left without saying goodbye.”

James takes a deep breath, resisting the urge to ask and ‘and then what?’ again.

“All right.”

“I promise you, it’ll work out.” Thomas says with a certainty that he’s not sure he possesses. If he’s honest, he doesn’t know what the future holds anymore, but he knows he doesn’t want either of them to miss out on happiness. And John Silver makes James happy. That much is clear.

 

~ * ~

 

After James leaves, the apartment is very quiet. Thomas makes another cup of tea and carries it over to the sofa, and then instead of sitting on it, he slides down to sit on the floor instead. He rests his arms on his knees, just drifting in thought.

Sometimes at night he still can’t believe he’s back, that he ever made it off the island, that he was rescued by pure chance after three whole years. He still has nightmares of the silence, the emptiness that threatened to overwhelm him. He still can’t abide eating fish, or seafood. There’s the whole silence issue. It’s all tiring, he’s tired of it. He wants to move on from that, from all of this.

John was the first person, apart from James, to ask about how he was doing now, that he was back. The first person to care. There’s something there that Thomas can’t put his finger on, but it matters tremendously.

 

~ * ~

 

The coffeeshop where John still works hasn’t changed. James hovers outside and then finally goes in. John’s there alone, it’s mid-morning. Normally there’s a crowd of people, but for once there’s only a woman sitting reading alone in the corner and a teen with earbuds in, typing busily on their laptop. James eyes them for a moment and then goes up to the counter.

“What can I get you?” John asks without looking up from the cup he’s drying. His hair is pulled back in a ponytail, he’s wearing a Joy Division shirt and James loves him.

“Can…” James clears his throat. “Can we talk?”

At the sound of his voice John looks up quickly. He sets the cup down, resting his hands on the counter. “That’s fast. I thought it would it take you at least a week or two.”

“I’m tired of wasting time.” James says.

John nods to himself. “How’s Thomas?”

“He seems.” James thinks about it. “Like he really enjoyed last night.”

“Good. I did as well.”

“Will you have dinner with us tonight?”

John scratched the back of his neck, looking away for a moment. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I’m happy that Thomas is back. I am.” John says this with the practice of someone who’s told themselves this statement a lot, “But it doesn’t mean I’m over everything…”

“Everything.” James says softly.

John stops fidgeting with the dishcloth and looks at him pointblank. “You. Okay? I’m not over you, and I don’t know when I will be, so I can’t just go to dinner with you two, knowing you’re going home afterwards to the flat where we…we…” His voice catches, and James leans across the counter, reaching for John’s face, cupping it in his broad palm. John subsides at his touch, looking at him silently, warily.

“What if I say you’d be coming home with us too?”

John manages a choked half-laugh, half gasp. “I’d say…that’s very kind of you, but…”

“I’m not over you either.” James says honestly. “And I don’t intend to be.” With that he leans further, pressing his lips to James’s startled mouth.

This is what he’s missed for the last six months. He’s known something was missing, and had been denying it, but it’s this. The feel of John, the taste of him, coffee and sugar and  _John,_  the way he looks in the morning, the way he looks now.

John draws back shakily. “I think we’d better talk.”

“Okay.” James says with a sinking heart.

“Muldoon!” John calls in the back and a short man with buzzed hair and tattoos appears, eying James warily. “Can you watch the front for a moment?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll be back.” John promises, and then with a jerk of his head at James, he leads him into the back supply room. There he leans against the shelves with a sigh.  James takes the opposite shelf, watching him.

“I…”

“Why did you leave without saying goodbye?” He had intended to say everything first, to get it off his chest, but now with the way John’s looking at him, or rather not looking at him, here in this cramped little room with the rows of coffee surrounding them, James needs to know.

John stares at him blankly. “Because I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t say goodbye to you. I didn’t want to say goodbye, but when I woke up and saw on the news…

“You saw it. You saw it announced, you could have told me!” That’s what really got to James over the last six months. John had known before him that Thomas was alive and done nothing about it, said nothing, simply walked away.

“I didn’t want to make you choose.” John says flatly. “Not when I knew what the answer would be.”

James stops. He wants to say John is wrong, that it wouldn’t have been so easy for him. But the truth is, he doesn’t know. He still can’t believe Thomas is alive at times. He wakes in the night, reaching for, still half thinking he’ll be gone and when he’s reassured by the warmth of Thomas sleeping beside him, it’s too much and he can’t sleep the rest of the night.

John rubs his hands at his eyes tiredly. “Why’re you here?”

“I told you.” James says.

John shrugs. “So what? You’re still with Thomas. You’re  _always_  going to be with Thomas. I know that.”

“I thought.” James says, after a moment, “that I could be with you too. That you could…” the phrase that comes to mind is ‘join us’ but that sounds wrong.

John half slumps against the shelves. “Are you serious?”

“What’s the alternative?” James snaps at him. “That we say goodbye, actually say it, and never see each other again?”

“Most people would say so.” John says softly.

“Well, I’m not most people.” James declares, “and neither are you, and Thomas most certainly isn’t.” He pauses. “It depends on if you’d want that.”

At that John looks up. “Are you serious?” He says again.

“You’re the one who walked away.”

John’s face crumbles, like he’s holding himself back. “Because I couldn’t give you up, you asshole. I couldn’t look you in the eye and say, ‘go be happy with someone else.’ I couldn’t say goodbye. Not when I love you.”

James closes the distance between them in two swift movements. He rests a hand on the shelf above John, gazing down at him. “So don’t say it. Don’t ever say goodbye.”

“I…” John breathes and James leans down and kisses him again.

This time there’s no counter between them, nothing holding them back or separating them. John’s hands linger helplessly for a moment and then go naturally to James’s hips, drawing him closer. James presses him backward into the shelf, drowning in John’s mouth, lost in the rhythm of their touch.

He feels John’s hands gripping his ass now, and his own hand is inside John’s shirt, seeking skin contact, anything at all. But what he really wants is…his hand drops down between them and he undoes John’s zipper easily.

“James.” John moans softly.

Without a word he sinks to his knees, and wraps his lips around John’s dick. Six months without this. Two years without Thomas. He’s done living without the people he loves. He wants to close his eyes, let the familiar sensations carrying him away, but he can’t miss this. The sight of John, chest heaving, gripping the shelves with both hands as he stares down at James, trying not to buck his hips. His ponytail’s come loose, and that sight is everything in the fucking world.

James slides a hand down his back to his ass, pressing John more firmly against him. He wants it all, he wants everything. He looks up at John as he sucks his cock, begging him to understand.

John reaches a hand down to slide softly through his hair, and then he moans again and James knows that, feels the familiar tensions growing in his body and he’s ready when John comes.

“Oi! John, get your butt out here! We’ve a line!”

John’s panting, still pressed against the shelves. He stares down at James with dazed eyes.

James gets to his feet, wiping his mouth. He looks at John and then kisses him very softly. “Come to dinner. 7 o’clock.”

“I’ll…think about it.” John says finally, and then without another word, he brushes past James and goes out front.

James waits few minutes in the supply room and then sidles out, going past the counter with only a quick glance. Muldoon gives him a sideways curious look but John’s studiously avoiding him.

 

~ * ~

 

_Six months ago_

 

It's all over the news. John can't get away from it no matter where he goes. Newstands, internet, even his coworkers are talking about it. Thomas Hamilton back from the dead. The pictures are neverending. Shots of Thomas getting off the rescue plane, Thomas and his father, that's annoying. Why on earth would Thomas let himself be photographed with that prick?

And then the pictures of him and James. None of them kissing, John wasn't sure he'd be able to bear that. But the pictures of Thomas wrapped in James's arms at the end of the tarmac, their heads bowed together, had almost been too much.

He'd gone into the supply room at work under pretense of restocking the coffee filters and simply sunk stiffly to the floor, his arms wrapped around his knees. 

_It was no use being sad_ , he reminded himself. He'd given up his reason to be sad. He'd walked away without even breaking up officially with James. He'd simply left. So there was a void and nothing more. He'd slept on Muldoon's couch for the first week, drinking too much and being bleary eyed at work, simply getting through the day without talking a lot, without thinking too much. Everything hurt.

Muldoon didn't understand. "You broke up with him, what's the deal?"

“It’s nothing.” John had brushed it off.

He couldn't tell anyone why he was sad, and then Muldoon had seen the news and finally gotten it.

"You didn't have to leave." was all he'd said.

"Yes I did." John said quietly. 

He couldn't explain. He couldn't bear to have James tell him that it had been good, but now he was with Thomas again. And of course he was with Thomas again because Thomas was still alive.

The stupid part was that in the beginning this was totally what John had thought would happen! For the first six months or, he'd expected Thomas to show up on their doorstep to reclaim what was his. And the months had passed, and he hadn't, and John had let himself become complacent. 

He wasn't even mad at Thomas because none of it was his fault. It wasn't as though Thomas had gotten stranded on an island in the middle of the fucking Pacific for a lark and only came back when it suited him. No it was just the stupid whims of the universe. The universe that simply decreed there wasn't enough happiness to go around, and that while some people were definitely allowed to be happy, John Silver was not one of them.

More time passed and he pretended that everything was fine, because mostly what was the alternative? He couldn't ask James to choose now. Even though John simply wanted to see him, wanted to say...something, though he didn't know what to say. The words wouldn’t come.

And then one night he'd happened to be in a bar, ostensibly waiting for Muldoon, but when his friend hadn't been able to get out of his gig, he'd just stayed to have a drink. And then he'd felt someone watching him and looked up.

 

~ * ~

 

James goes to work, or rather he starts to, and then realizes he can't focus on anything, except whether or not John will show up. He just blew John in the supply room for god's sake. What is he supposed to do now? How is he supposed to focus?

He calls in to the office and tells his assistant he's not going to make it in today and leaves it at that. Instead he heads to the park and sits on a bench. It's one of his favorite spots in the city. He's come here on good mornings and on bad. He likes to watch the people walking their dogs, or reading, usually he's one of those, though lately he wonders if they should get a dog. 

His phone buzzes and he takes it out.

_How'd it go?_

James grimaces. Is there a good answer to that? 

He texts back ' _I invited him to dinner and he said he'd think about it_.' He leaves out the bit about the blowjob. He can mention that later.

Thomas takes long enough responding that he starts worrying.

" _Well then, we'll have to wait and see_." winky face emoji, hearts, and all that. 

James draws a deep breath. yes, that's pretty much all he can do, all they can do. He leans back, and tries not to worry that he's literally blown it.

He goes for a long walk through the park and down by the river, and finally winds up at the spot along the orchard walk where Thomas had first told him that he loved him. It seemed so long ago yet he can close his eyes and smell the apple blossoms, the scent of the river in the air, and the sunshine on his face. He'd been so happy that day.

Now, he's not entirely sure what he can be. He'd like to be happy. He thinks about Thomas and the suggestion he made. James has heard of things like this, an open relationship, but it feels like such a simple term for something so much more.

 

~ * ~

 

It's late afternoon by the time James finally goes home. He has to think of something to make for dinner and he's completely blanking. John had been easy to cook for. He liked sweet things, pancakes, cheesecake, muffins. James is trying to think of a dinner-meal that falls into this category other than breakfast for dinner, when he stops short at the gate of the garden.

There, sitting on the steps to their flat is John. His head is lowered, he's looking at his phone. He's not expecting James at all. That much is clear. and why should he? it's two hours before James gets home from work. 

James hesitates and then opens the gate. It squeaks and John glances up and freezes.

"You're home early." He gets to his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"You're home." Is what James says.

"I thought about what you said." John starts. "And basically...what it comes down to." His shoulders slump slightly. "I don't want to waste any more time either." He looks at James with open hope in his eyes. "So if Thomas is all right with it."

"He is." James says. His voice is remarkably steady, considering the emotions churning inside him. 

John steps aside as he comes to the door. James unlocks it, and holds it, John comes in. 

James knows he's been here, knows he's seen the place, but all the same he can't stop watching John look around at the living room  the sofa where he and Thomas slept together.

John looks at the fridge where the photos are, the notes Thomas leaves scrawled on post-its and there he pauses. There in the middle of the fridge is the drawing that John did, a few months after they'd met. it had been a simple sketch, something he had doodled while James had been cooking, but James had loved it and when John had said 'it's yours if you want it." he had taken it and stuck in the middle of the fridge. It hasn't moved. The other items fan out from it, like it's the heart of the fridge.

"You kept it." John taps it lightly with his finger. "I didn't think."

James reaches for him, sliding his hands down John's hips, drawing him close, feeling John's intake of breath. "I couldn't bear to throw it away. I kept everything. It's in a box in the closet."

"James." John breathes. He presses a kiss to James's chest. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you he was alive."

"It's all right." James strokes a thumb along John's hip. This is real and John's here, and none of that matters anymore. 

He stands there, holding John. In a little while he'll start dinner and he's decided on pancakes because why not? And then Thomas will get home, and he'll see that he was right. And they'll go from there. But for now he's just holding John, and that's enough. 

Over his shoulder he looks at the sketch. Such a simple thing, a drawing of a rocky bluff overlooking the distant sea. But it's the spot where he first told John he loved him. The place where he saw a way forward in life after all the grief and misery and pain.

Of course he had kept it.

 


End file.
